


arachne

by Vile_Astraia



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 404 Ben Solo Not Found, And Thinks He’s Someone Else, Bondage, Cheating, Cunnilingus, Dark Canonverse, Deception, Enemies, F/M, Force Bond, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jealousy, Jedi Mind Tricks, Kylo Has Issues With Casual Sex, Kylo Has Sex With Tied and Blindfolded Rey, Mentioned established non-reylo relationship, Mistaken Identity, Oral Sex, Possessive Kylo, Revenge, Unreliable Narrator, Who Was Not Tied Up For Him, noncon, rape/noncon elements, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vile_Astraia/pseuds/Vile_Astraia
Summary: He draws closer. She’s the one giving orders. In her compromised position, that won’t last long, but his curiosity would like to peak before it is sated.It’s part of the pleasures of curiosity.The bond opens and Supreme Leader Kylo Ren finds the Scavenger tied up, blindfolded, and waiting for another.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 15
Kudos: 221





	arachne

In the beginning, the bond had only opened when they were both alone.

It seemed as though they were alone often. That was unremarkable to him. He certainly was even without her turning up. He’d see her first, searching for a distraction from his solitude, usually undergoing the new stresses relating to his accent into authority. Then she’d glance up, appearing lost in thought with her own stresses, and grimace, and then she’d be gone. 

It was all over the course of one blink. Alone. Together. Alone again.

He could easily tell a bit about her surroundings to prove this. She wasn’t animated when he appeared to her. She wasn’t mid-speech, or sparring with another person, or entangled with a lover. The interruption always seemed to be one of solitude, perhaps something more precious to her from the way she sneered at him before she closed the shadowy window into her life.

He could posit his theories, or at least imply his growing curiosity about this strange connection; but never quickly enough for her to hear about it before she drove him out of her thoughts. 

Maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe her surroundings were fully occupied, and the scavenger was just detached from them upon his appearances. He wanted to freeze her in place every time it opened up, to rifle through the actual tear in space that brought them together. Explore the boundaries. Experiment. 

He was always alone when she arrived. Once, naked head to toe, standing in his quarters dripping water from her skin, as she had just bathed. She flinched when he looked at her, dazed, and drew a towel around herself. It had been clear it had opened at the most inopportune time for her, and possibly the most opportune for him. 

But what was odd was she covered herself. Instead of merely vanishing again. She was clearly flustered. Enough that even his most generous of grand assumptions could not credit a deep desire to be looked at. But still she remained. 

He took the chance to stare. Boldly. 

The girl would just leave either way. What was he supposed to do? Reach his hand out time and time again until she took it?

He had been used to taking. What was harder to compel from a person was for them to willingly take. His offers. Himself. 

So he would never depend on that untrained skill again. 

Her disadvantage made the moment titillating. Would she leave, or stay to strike him? She clearly wanted to do some damage. Muscles coiling in rage.

Her soaked, lithe body dripping, leaving a puddle on his floor he would not have cleaned up for long after she was gone. Flush coloring her cheeks. Hands in fists. 

She was unarmed: perversely he wondered for a moment if she would fight him naked?

And he either said it out loud or the girl who was so indifferent was searching his mind anyway and plucked that question from his thoughts. Her teeth grit and she was gone. 

Immediately once she had vanished, he fell to his knees in the water and debased himself to her memory, wishing he could upturn his face and lap it up straight from the source, where her cunt had hung in the air, just where his face was now. The remnants of bath water soaking into his trousers where he knelt feeding his desire. While one hand worked the length of his cock, the other slid bare fingers through the puddle that evidenced her presence, lapping it off his skin and moaning to find it so warm from her. 

The next few times the bond opens, she’s not looking at him. She appears to be reading in bed, or training, and she’ll get a fuzzy look on her face and turn her head in all directions until her eyes land on him.

Then she’ll glare. 

But it’s probably from the knowing look on his face. As if he’d ever forget the image of her little cunt glistening in his room. 

It is odd, she’s grown so used to it, that she doesn’t lurch to awareness when the bond opens now. Sometimes she will hide what she is doing. Twisting away to drop things out of view. But often times, she will hunch over her work, or twist her staff in her hands, and keep at it until he leaves. He hasn’t spoken since the incident involving her nakedness. Observing her _just being_ has been too fascinating a turn to interrupt. The more comfortable she grows, he wonders, perhaps she won’t shrug a towel on so quickly when he sees her perky tits react to the chill in the room. 

_“I guess now I can lock the doors.”_

He looks up from his desk. 

He knows a few things about this strange bond. That it sometimes takes them a few moments to notice. That it opens when they’re alone. That she hates it.

He has never heard her voice sound like that. Breathless. Excited. 

The Supreme Leader glances up with a rare open expression, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

But it barely registers the next shock that she is naked, on all fours, with her hands bound in front of her and her bare ass presented in the air. 

He had been hunched over his work for so long that now there’s a crick in his neck when he lifts his head. That’s been the solution to most of his problems: throwing himself into his work. The physical strains, not just from extensive reading but from training, make his jaw tighten. His body should not be withering under his labors. It should be strong.

He stands immediately. Work abandoned. His chair scraping the floor behind him. 

He swallows. His heart is thudding so heavy and fast. An asteroid field in his ribs.

Kylo Ren stares at her, explores her, as long as the bond will let him. He keeps waiting for her glare. It doesn’t come. 

There’s a scarf around her eyes. A blindfold. 

She laughs. Chiding. Almost as if his inaction at such an offering was stupid.

_“Come here.”_

The doors do lock behind him. He can hear the click of them when she shutters them with her powers. Her own doors. Her own quarters? He can make out the lumpy bed under her knees, the illumination of her body from a soft light on the headboard.

He draws closer. She’s the one giving orders. In her compromised position, that won’t last long, but his curiosity would like to peak before it is sated. 

It’s part of the pleasures of curiosity.

Her hips sway: that tantalizing ass moving side to side like a predator about to pounce. She is more excited than practiced. He can tell in the way her arms tremble beneath her bowed head.

Is this a dream?

The dream breaks when the curves of her pretty cheeks swell with a coy smile. He wants to rip the scarf away and make her look at him. Explain herself. 

She does without meaning to:

“I said _come here,_ Finn,” she compels with such a beautifully soft voice. 

She can make him want to take.

It crashes violently, wave again rock, thudding into the inside of his skull. She’s waiting for another. She’s posed like this not at all to please him. 

He steps back and she senses him retreat. 

“What’s wrong?” She shifts, attempting to be tempting to him, but he can feel the flare of nerves prickling her pretty skin. From this angle, he sees how small her breasts are. Nipples hard to catch in his sight because her arms block them, not much a curve to give them a life of their own when she wiggles. 

A small target for his mouth. His hands. His cum. Pretty, delicate, the contours of her chest mostly muscle. 

He adores the sight, but hates the accompanying awareness. She awaits another. He is intruding. 

“You said you wanted to try it,” she says with a swallow. He keeps staring at her. 

Blindfolded and tied? She has been busy since he’d seen her last. 

There is a painful urge to rip the scarf away from her eyes again: this time to humiliate her, shamelessly spread like a whore for him. He wants to eat her fear, live off the moment of powerlessness while he sneers at her naked breasts and lifted ass and she can do nothing but cower in shame. 

But he does not. She is so vulnerable like this. He can feel her. Suddenly afraid that she is not liked. Her loneliness opens a void inside him. 

He takes off his glove. Wraps a hand around the back of her neck. She tenses, then goes soft, as his fingers drape almost entirely around the width of her pretty neck. He rubs a soothing circle on her nape. 

One word and this will all be over. 

He saves his word, then. He lets this be as it is. She doesn’t have to know yet. 

He steps back. She releases out a soft breath when his hand leaves her body. But he takes heavy, deliberately slow steps so she hears him survey her in a vulture’s circle. Her breath is uneven. She knows she’s being looked at like the thing offered up to fuck that she is. 

He steps around the bed to look at her backside, but he gets sidetracked from her lovely curves. 

Her feet are _disgusting._

They aren’t dirty: and the shape of them isn’t repelling. They aren’t small or abnormally large, her toes curl prettily in anticipation. But one look and he is tilting his head, ignoring her naked form, to take in the monstrosity that is Jakku-ravaged skin. It’s callused tough as leather. He touches the tip of one finger to a hardened sole and she doesn’t even react. 

She can’t feel it. 

Grimacing, he removes his fingertip from her skin. He craves to run a whetstone over the hardened heel like Ap’Lek Ren sharpening the blade of his executioner’s ax. Honing her down to shiny softness.

He steps away.

“Finn…”

The silk of her hair pools over one shoulder. Delicately, he lifts the mass of it and tucks it behind her ear. He hasn’t seen it unbound, or even near-unbound, since he killed his master. It’s soft under his naked fingers. He holds back a groan as he examines the feel of it like a length of fine fabric. 

She leans towards his touch, chasing it with a childish shove of her shoulder. It’s very playful for a girl who is tied and waiting to be fucked. The act of someone who is not about to be properly handled. She doesn’t even know it’s misbehaving to shove the man come to fuck her bound body.

“Hurry up,” she insists, and her tone is edged in annoyance and impatience like she’s trying to get him to board a freighter for an errand. Not to ravish her. 

His nostrils flare. 

She’s doing this for fun. She tied herself up and waited to be used to satisfy a need for...mere fun? She doesn’t understand the danger of her own submission. The anticipation of not getting what she wanted, or being teased. It was one thing for him not to have her: it was another for someone else to have her the wrong way. The possession he felt for her, the wrath and the need, demanded so much more from him than to make her giggle. Looking for a laugh was such an insult to the depth of connection she rejected. She was waiting for someone to make her laugh while she was alone. She was able to feel anything else but the misery this valley between them caused.

He clenches his fist and steps away. 

He wishes for a way to disguise his voice and issue a command. To make her beg for it. To make her debase herself in front of him as he has done to her image so many times before. Resentment makes his jaw twitch with a bitter twist.

He bows his head forward and breathes from her needy cunt. One animalistic huff, scenting as though recording the smell to hunt by it, one that is loud enough for her to hear and feel.

The Scavenger rocks her hips eagerly towards his face. 

She’s clearly not used to being teased. 

She just gets what she wants with the traitor? To be pointlessly bound and satisfied? It’s clear she has stumbled into unfamiliar territory with his hesitation. She’s used to getting what she craves from the other one. 

Absently, his tongue darts out, splitting her lips open, dipping in for a meager taste. 

She moans.

“Please,” it’s a gasp. 

She’s had it too easy. He holds her thighs open and continues to lap at her. It’s what she’s asking for. She’s in need. He’s no worse than the man she despises for giving her what she wants. Even now, she keens and presses back against his face. He kneels at the foot of her bed. She’d presented him with her bare body. She’d waited for whoever would come and find her like this. She’d locked the doors herself. 

His tongue wanders down to pluck at her hard clit. She coos and his tongue drips with her approval of his touch on her skin.

“I was nervous about this…”

It kills him not to answer. It clearly is something she needs to feel comfortable. He wants to tell her she doesn’t have to be afraid: he’s here, he will take care of her. He has to let her know it in other ways. 

Her thighs are so tight under his hands. The muscles are flexed so hard she feels like she’s going to snap. He keeps lapping, flat-tongued, breathing into her wet pussy as if to warm cold hands. 

Rey whimpers as his nose nuzzles her lips apart, the aquiline bridge swiping intimately through her slit. 

“Thank you for trying this. I didn’t want to ask for it...but maybe it will help me... _like it_ better.”

He feels one full emotion first. She’s...lonely. Nervous. And she’s trying to ignore those feelings. He can _feel_ her denying her feelings.

And then he realizes she doesn’t just mean her current state of bondage.

She means his mouth greedily feasting on her cunt.

He groans roughly, almost angry enough to spit venom, but instead works her open and instead spits in her, just salivation off his tongue into her hole: slow enough for her to feel its foreign warmth slip into herself. Himself taken into herself because she has to let it. 

Her inner muscles clench and that pushes his slick back out. Once it’s done he doesn’t mind. He swallows it. Dips his tongue back inside until she lets out what would be a scream if her voice didn’t harshly crack halfway through its ascent. Her arms struggle to hold her body aloft: strung out and needing this so badly. A slow tide of her wetness runs a high tide from the source, her thighs coated, and he dips his head to nip at the soft swell at the inside of her leg and then back to her sex.

She’s curious, and wondering, and already notching the experience into her studious mind to revisit later. 

Perhaps it’s enough for him: to know she’ll be wanting it and she’ll never get this again.

The Traitor truly hadn’t tasted her. And she is so delicious to him. Selfishly, he laps at her for his own satisfaction. His own pleasure. She’s trapped and he can take whatever he pleases, and isn’t it nice for her that instead he’s choosing to give her _this?_

Had something so delicious truly never been tasted before?

He teases insistently at her clit until she squeaks. A direct assault, overstimulating, knowing it won’t get her to cum and instead make her almost fearful of it from the intensity. Vengeful for a moment. Toying. Not bored, but his interest elsewhere, in the greater implications of her tied with her eyes covered on her bed, and how even though she’s alone and he can’t see her surroundings: he’d like to permanently affect them. 

“Please,” she rasps out, _“please.”_

He snaps back to tend to her. Instead of his tongue rough and fast on her clit, he plies it with his lips and sucks gently, insistently, coaxing. Rey’s legs quiver like a fawn attempting to stand up for the first time. He strokes his hands up and down her legs at this valiant effort. She purrs at his touch and arches her back for him once more, opening up beautifully now that she doesn’t feel so overwhelmed.

“Please,” she says, with more urgency, “please please please _this isn’t funny.”_

Maybe not between herself and the traitor. But The Supreme Leader finds all of this very funny.

And she’d beckoned that boy into her bed to have a laugh, hadn’t she?

She squirms her ass to try and get what she wants: she’s not getting it that way. He grabs her hips and holds her steady, spearing his tongue inside her messily until she cries out from shock of how it fills her so obscenely. She’d never had this sweet cunt feasted on before. She was probably expecting a few sucks and kisses. She clearly had prepared herself for this to be easy.

He will not give it to her easy.

When she cums it’s clear she knows not of what to expect. Her howls, loud and free, indicate that well enough. If she had any sense for how to taper her reactions to hide this activities she would not be so vocal for him. He smirks. Keeping her going.

And when he pleasure keeps rocking through her system, overriding her, she becomes afraid. Not doubtful of her partner, but of herself.

“E-enough,” she tightens her belly and folds herself over. Trembling. Limbs pulling at her bindings. 

He maintains his caresses with a sadistic focus. She whines.

Her hips jerk as she tries to resist the flood of pleasure: her first orgasm, maybe her first ever, was like the first bite of a peach. But now she’s making a mess all over and doesn’t know what’s at the core. 

He doesn’t either, not really. Would he vanish in a moment when her mind snapped shut? Would she realize what really left her. 

“Please,” she grits her teeth and pleads, _“please please please.”_

He’d love to ask questions, not only for liberation for his mouth for a moment to do anything else but play with her, but also genuine curiosity. It would reveal his identity, however, so he stays silent and lets her believes she is offering her cunt to be feasted upon by an ally. 

What a great feast she made for an enemy, regardless, her sweet little body trembling and filling his mouth with her nectar just to slake lust.

She likes it so much. He wants to rip off the blindfold, or speak, or slap her ass so hard that he can mold her fear however he wants it.

But he doesn’t. He holds her open and does exactly what she asked him to. 

Rey screams, louder than anything he anticipated, and louder than she intended as well. It’s obvious for how she thrusts her face into her pillows and howls. She’d invited someone here to play. But she was being taken, introduced to a lust that might break her. 

He’d hoped he could break her. 

She pulls at her binds and hides in her pillows and writhes for him like a harlot. 

And he is grateful to the bond because it gave him something they both needed. 

He doesn’t untie her. Dreads the moment when she comes back to this world from her bliss. All it takes is a veil to be lifted to lose the peace he feels, sitting between her legs, watching her body stir with aftershocks. 

He doesn’t need to worry for long.

The Scavenger is fast asleep, overwrought, apparently, from a few intense orgasms. Confused, he unknots a wrist. She must have used to force to tighten them. Funny how she crafted something so well she couldn’t escape. 

He watches her as she sleeps quietly on her belly, limbs tight to her body once they’re free. She is so trusting. 

He laughs. Too trusting.

He can’t see much of the room: but he can see when they’re not alone. 

The traitor has a blaster pointed at him. They blink at each other. 

Rey so clearly molested on the bed, binds holding her in place in a tangle across the sheets, the smell of her sex _everywhere._

He can’t help but straighten his posture and preen for a moment. From the horror on her partner’s face: it’s clear that he has thoroughly conquered the Scavenger. 

But if he shouts it might wake up this dreaming beauty. 

Kylo raises a hand before the motion can be traced with a blaster shot.

_“You will believe whatever she says happened tonight.”_

The force fuzzes around the edges. It’s harder to manipulate in a place where he is not truly standing. But it works _just_ enough:

“I will believe whatever she says happened tonight.”

_“And you will not tell anyone what that is.”_

“And I will not tell anyone what that is.”

“And,” Kylo pauses for the first time before giving an order, _“you will tell her you will come back tomorrow night, if she prepares herself the same way.”_

He wishes it was mere vengeance against the trooper that he had done this tonight. But when he speaks and he can still taste her on his tongue: it’s clear that he is looking for the opportunity to do it again for her. 


End file.
